Betty's skin crawled with an eerie sensation, as if unseen eyes were boring into her. She attempted to brush off the feeling, but it only intensified, making her flesh prickle.
Her feet tapped out a staccato beat on the footrest, and her legs quivered ever so slightly.
David's gaze was drawn to her restless movements. He slid his stool closer, his eyes locked on hers, and enveloped her trembling hands in his.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Betty's head shook almost imperceptibly, her voice a mere whisper as she muttered, "I'm fine." Her gaze dropped, her eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor.
David recognized the subtle signs of distress and knew better than to push her further. He turned to the mixologist, his tone lightening as he ordered, "I'd love to have one of your best cocktails."
